He Was Home
by Katie Emma Hall
Summary: When Ron left Harry and Hermione in TDH, he didn't know what to do. Regret consumed him. All he wanted was to go home, and to be at home was to be with her.


Her cries still rang in his ears as he felt his feet slam into the ground outside Shell Cottage.

He felt his stomach lurch. Nausea? No, this was something far more potent. This was _guilt_, he realised.

What _had_ he done?

* * *

Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth, Cornwall, was quaint in proportion and decorated tastefully by Fleur Weasley. As Bill led him over the thresold, the warmth radiating from the driftwood fire hit him. He was cold. Shivering, in fact, but he manfully tried to hold his frozen form still as the tremors rippled through his limbs.

The flames were blue, green in places, as the driftwood had been salavaged from the salty sea. The colours lit up Fleur's silvery, silky hair, and illuminated her pearly skin. The effect was bizarre, and Ron felt another lurch of repentment burn his empty stomach. Hermione. How could he possibly have ever overlooked her? He remembered, with a strange clarity, Hermione's expression every single time he had stared at Fleur with a longing that had been for Hermione all along.... only he hadn't realised.

Until now.

'Ron, what's happened? Are Harry and Hermione alright? Oh shit! You're crying! Speak to me, Ron! What's-'

He wiped his eyes, raw from exhaustion and weeping. 'Bill, they're fine. Well, if they're not, I'm to blame,' he croaked. His throat burned.

Bill's scarred face tensed with suspicion. His cornflower blue eyes, the same eyes as Ron, narrowed at what Ron had implied. He said nothing. Ron closed his eyes and looked away from his brother and Fleur in shame.

'I left them. I left them, Bill, and now I can't find them!'

Bill still said nothing, although Ron sensed something in how his fingers tightened almost inperceptibly on his shoulders. He couldn't blame his brother for thinking his actions were low, because they were. They were lower than Ron had ever been before. The room seemed to shrink around him as he finally met Bill's eyes. He appeared livid.

But it was Fleur who spoke first. She moved from the cream suede couch, walking tentatively over the plush carpet to the brothers. 'Well, it was good zat you came to us,' she said stiffly, her face betraying nothing, as neutral as the colour scheme of the room. 'Zey are in grave danger, now, though. What 'eez 'eet that made you leave them, Ronald?'

'Yes, Ron,' Bill finally ground out, his grasp firmer than ever. 'What in the name of Merlin made you leave them? Your friends? The girl who, quite obviously, loves you, you dolt! You-'

Only two words mattered to Ron. 'Loves me_? Loves _me? What do you mean, Bill? You mean-'

Bill removed his hands and threw them into the air in despair. With a loud groan, he cupped his face with his callaused fingers. Fleur shook her head in sheer disbelief. 'You mean to tell me you haven't noticed, Ron?'

Fleur nodded and placed a dainty hand on Bill's shoulder in support. 'Yes, Ronald. You 'eez not noticing ze way she looks at you like you 'eez ze centre of ze universe?' she asked softly.

Ron's eyes welled up once more. No, he hadn't noticed, not at all.

'Or ze way she sticks by you, no matter what? Not even how she hangs onto every last word, no?'

A tear escaped.

'They need you, Ronald. Harry needs you for 'zee.... _misson_, zey need your support. Why, Ronald? Why did you leave?'

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. The three of them sat at the circular table, with only the rythmic pounding of the waves to break the heavy silence. Ron chewed his food, barely tasting the chicken and not noticing the worried glances his brother and Fleur were exchanging. He stared out of the window, looking out onto the dark lawn and the endless expanse of open ocean before him.

'Ron?'

He looked up to acknowledge that he had heard, but did only that. His eyes remained fixed to the window.

'You still haven't told us why you left them, mate,' Bill sighed, setting down his cutlery on the painted white surface. A globule of gravy oozed from the tip of his knife, dirtying the immaculate table. Bill flicked his wand hastily, as Fleur's silver eyes narrowed. 'If you told us what happened, we could help, Ron. You know we're here to help you.'

Shaking his head, Ron exhaled sharply. 'Really, Bill, no. What's happened has happened and nothing either of you can say could possibly change that,' he responded in a low voice. 'I could tell you the full story, I could tell you exactly what happened,' he added, on his feet now, glowering down at the pair, 'but absolutely nothing is going to help what I've done.'

'Ron-'

'Nothing!' he roared, a jet of vivid scarlet shooting from the tip of his wand which he had retrieved from his holster without even thinking about it. The jet hit the chicken set on a silver platter at the centre of the dining table and began to burn. They watched, dumbfounded, as the flesh began to blacken and crispen, the crackling and sizzling and popping punctuating the sudden tension. Finally, Fleur withdrew her wand and extinguished the flames with a sharp jab. She too was standing now, her seething face suddenly bird-like in its rage as her veela instincts kicked in. She was more furious than Ron had ever seen her before.

'Ronald Weasley!' she hissed, reminding him disturbingly of his mother. 'Have you no respect for ze hospitality 'zat your dear brother and I are offering to you?'

Ron gulped and nodded hastily, eager to backtrack. 'Of course, Fleur. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry-'

'No!' she barked, slamming a fist down on to the table. The cutlery clanked sharply. 'We are trying to help you, Ronald, yet you still fight against us? Why? Why is zis?' she implored. 'Accept 'eet, Ronald; you need our help.'

Ron looked helplessly from Fleur to Bill. His ears were burning, as were his cheeks. Bill shook his head at his brother, disappointment emanating from him almost inperceptibly. 'I have nothing to say, Ron,' he sighed wearily, looking at his wife for support. 'Fleur's right. You're more than welcome to stay here, but for Merlin's sake, talk to us. We're here, Ronald,' he continued in a gentle tone, leaning forwards towards Ron. 'I can see how difficult this is for you.'

It outstanded Ron, how easily the truth came forth in a torrent of words and wails. Like a dam had burst, he told them. He'd left Harry. He'd left _Hermione_. He'd acted like a complete arse. And now, _now_ he didn't know where they were. He told them about the snatchers, and how he'd escaped them. He told them everything, except for the mission that they had been appointed by Dumbledore.

In the early hours of the morning, he was finally excused. As he rested his weary head on the warm, clean pillow, a welcome change from the dingy, damp, doxy ridden bedding in the tent, he thought of them. And as he entered the realm of slumber, he dreamt of her, and only her.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

A week passed. It felt more like a month to Ron, as he sat on the rocky clifftops, and tore at the long grass with tense hands. He sat there staring at the horizon for hours, as the sun dipped down and the pearly moon rose in the clear pitch night sky. Wary of the dark, and of course, the possibility of there being spiders in the vicinity, Ron pulled out the deluminator that he kept in the left pocket of his robes. He flicked it, and a ball of light shot out, hovering above the ground a metre away. Better, much better.

He retreated to his room, feeling guilty at imposing on the newlyweds.

He wondered who he'd marry. Would he have a family, kids of his own? And would Hermione be an integral, major part of his life, or retreat to the sidelines as he marries someone who he'll never love as much as her?

Or would she marry someone else? He didn't think he could bear the thought.

'So much for having the emotional range of a teaspoon,' he muttered to himself sleepily. 'I can't wait to go home.'

* * *

Nineteen years later

* * *

His eyes flew open as, with a deafening crash, the bedroom door swung open and crashed against the wall. Looking to the clock on the chest of drawers, he groaned and then yelped as a draft of cool air washed over him. Rose had dragged the covers off him.

'Dad? Dad! Come on, dad, we have an hour before the train goes!' she screeched. With her dark brown curls astrew around her head like she had been electrocuted, and a severe expression on her pretty young face, he couldn't help but be reminded of his Hermione at the same age. Apart from the eyes. Rose had inherited his cornflower blue eyes.

'What are you smiling at, dad?' she snapped. He held back a chuckle at that. 'This is no laughing matter, if I'm late for the train you're side-along apparating there and you're giving me a hundred galleons by way of apology!'

'Mercenary!'

She smirked smugly. 'No. It's called good business sense. Now, drag your arse out of bed!'

'Language!'

'Sorry, mother. Come on, get his clothes out for him. He's too bloody bone idle to do it himself,' Rose sighed to Hermione, who had come in bearing an overloaded breakfast tray. 'Oh look, you've even made him breakfast in bed. Why do you encourage his laziness?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Darling, when you're married, you'll understand the dynamics of a happy marriage. Now, go and get Hugo out of bed.'

Rose threw the blanket back at Ron without looking at him and frowned. 'Can't carrot-head wake up himself? Merlin's beard-'

'Don't call him that! Half of your family is ginger, and your kids might inherit the gene. Watch what you say, and do what you're told!' Hermione told Rose firmly as she set the tray down on the bed with care, making sure not to spill the pumpkin juice on the crisp Egyptian cotton.

As Rose left the room huffily, Hermione began to giggle. She touseled Ron's mussed hair lovingly. 'Oh, I love my family. I really do,' she sighed contentedly. 'I wanted to tell her that her kids won't be red-heads if she marries someone with a very dominant hair colour, just to tease her!'

Ron laughed heartily. It was their private family joke; ever since meeting at a Ministry ball, Rose Weasley had nursed a crush on Scorpius Malfoy, who, incidentally, had inherited the traditional Malfoy hair colour. 'I know it's pretty far down the line now, but what if they do end up married, one day in the distant future?'

Hermione shrugged. 'We'll support them. We'll celebrate our dynamic, colourful, weird and wonderful family!' She smiled warmly and planted a kiss on Ron's forehead. 'Though I'm pretty sure Arthur wouldn't be too pleased. He'd much rather her marry an interesting muggle, wouldn't he?' she chuckled. Ron joined in. Yes, Arthur would probably rather welcome a muggle into the family than a Malfoy, but he'd get over it. Eventually.

'But for now,' he whispered into Hermione's ear, 'we're happy as we are. Lets think of the future when the future comes, and live for now. You and my children are my world, and I'll never, ever leave you.'

Hermione shivered and drew away from him in shock. Her brown eyes were shining with tears. 'It seems that your emotional range has evolved from teaspoon to bucket,' she laughed chokingly, trying not to cry. Ron stroked her brow and she closed her eyes, lips trembling. 'I know you won't leave me again. I trust you. I swore to myself,' she wiped her eyes sniffed, 'I swore that I'd never forvgive you, the night you left me and Harry. But when I saw you again, when you found us, I knew at that moment that I'd never love anyone else. I knew that you were most certainly the one.'

Ron frowned with confusion. 'But you went mad, you tried to curse me-'

'Because I was angry that you'd left me like that, Ron. It didn't mean I didn't love you, or that I wasn't glad with every fibre of my being that you'd come back to me.' She stood up and took a deep purple robe from the oak wardrobe, slipping it on and running a brush through her wild tangled mane. 'I'm going to make sure that Rose hasn't killed Hugo yet. Or bribed him into letting her spell his hair brown. She's a Slytherin through and through, that girl.'

She breezed out of the room, and Ron turned his attention to the lovingly-prepared breakfast his wife had made him. As he took a mouthful of the hot bacon, a rush of contentment and gratitude swept through him catching him off-guard.

A scream echoed from the next room. Ron jumped, knocking the juice onto the expensive bed linen. 'Dad!' Hugo screamed hysterically. 'Rose hexed me to look like a badger! And my hair's bright yellow!' Ron could head Rose laughing loudly as well, and Hermione admonishing her while trying to console a distressed Hugo.

He could only laugh. He loved his family. He really did. And he wouldn't exchange this content, albeit dysfunctional family for anything in this world.

He was home.


End file.
